Little Brother
by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: Michael discovers his punishment within the Cage and he's ready to make it end.


Michael has never seen Lucifer's scars until now.

They cover his back, jagged strips of elevated skin that has been kissed a snow white; thicker and larger portions of mutilated flesh lay closer to the top of his shoulder blades. They're hideous markings, always managing to divert the eye from pleasing features like the dip of his back or the broadness of his shoulders. The Morning Star was once a being that was crafted to outshine the stars and sit as this infallible image of beauty — his Father's finest art piece. All of Heaven had eyes only for Lucifer, warm and tucked with a gorgeous glow.

Even if peace were to come and understanding sought, Heaven would never view Lucifer as Heaven's brightest treasure. Lucifer was a mauled and ruined thing, Grace so disfigured it ran cold and wings only charred stumps of bone.

His brother is ugly.

It drove Michael into silent fits of rage. There's nowhere to go in the Cage. He can only gnash his teeth and clench his fists in the corner, body shaking so violently that he has to sit. It's because of him that Lucifer wears these ugly wounds and it makes the eldest archangel nauseous. It was his duty, though. It was his role to fulfill when Lucifer crossed the line. These were wounds that were justified and meant to be permanently displayed on Lucifer. This was the everlasting message of what happens when you disobey Father. No matter how long Michael will spend on reassuring himself that they — those marred features — are right, there's a hollow ring to each thought.

It's because of his anger does Lucifer look this way. It's because he failed his little brother.

Lucifer is shooting him an annoyed look from her perch, brows furrowed and uncomfortable at being stared at. "Unless you're going to strike up a conversation, stop staring," the younger archangel bites, issuing out a laborious sigh before turning his head away. They used to be so close, attached to the hip and interlocking pinkies as they walked together. Once upon a time he could feel his brother, feel each roll of emotion despite any distance between them, humming back idle and pleasant thoughts like a radio channel only meant for two. It was a gift and a way they could communicate with each other, never the two brothers feeling lonely. That came to an abrupt end and now there is the only soft backdrop of static between them.

Maybe it's out of selfishness that Michael makes his way towards his brother, curls his fingers into his and press his nose into his neck like they used to as kids. Maybe it's pity. Pity that no one will ever love Lucifer the way he used to be loved.

Lucifer stiffens and stares at him, upper lip curled and snarling out an offended, "What are you doing?" But there's fingers curling tightly against his and a desperate sort of look haunting the corners of Lucifer's eyes. "Go away," the younger archangel heaves out shakily and Michael doesn't say a word or address the fact that his brother is clutching onto his hand as if it may never return to him. Lucifer pulls away after a moment and moves to a far off corner, taking roost there and cradling his hand to his chest.

Each moment spent in the Cage is a moment observing the hateful leftovers of the Fall and Lucifer's prior experiences in this cell. Each day they get more grotesque in Michael's eyes, reminding Michael in a chant of destroyed flesh that he did this. He has only himself to blame. It never fails to make him furious, vision going red and making Michael dig the heel of his palms into his eyes until the color fades.

Lucifer seeks him out, eventually. Too enamored over an idea that has been formed when Michael took his hand…who knows how long ago. Has it been a year that has passed since than? Time moves strangely within the Cage. Lucifer trembles and whines as Michael memorizes every inch of his brother with his fingers, feeling him lean into each touch. Lucifer's so cold. No matter how many times he can run his searing fingers across Lucifer's skin, it only fluctuates to lukewarm before dropping back down to frigid. It makes touching Lucifer unenjoyable from his end but it seems his sibling is enamored over the trails of heat Michael's fingers can bring across his skin.

Michael can't look at his fingers when he touches Lucifer's shoulder blades. He closes his eyes, purses his lips and is a marble statue of stoicism. Michael tastes ash in his mouth whenever his fingers graze across a scar.

Even Lucifer's voice is slightly off-key due to the brittle dips in each note. Michael can't help it. Can't help write up a list of all of Lucifer's faults as he thrusts into him. Lucifer is busy digging his fingers into ground that will never give, face turned to the side and moaning each time Michael pushes his hips into him. Michael is left staring at Lucifer's back, an interaction that leaves his pace picking up, brutally driving himself into the younger archangel until his voice breaks.

It's only Michael's hands that are keeping Lucifer's hips up, his upper body slumped against the floor and trying, futilely, to keep up. When Lucifer's back becomes too much for him, Michael leans forward and wraps his arm around his brother's neck. Pulling him up until his chest meets his back, Michael lets his forearm dig into Lucifer's throat. Lucifer is quick to reach back and hold onto Michael's sides for sake of maintaining contact, his moans coming out wheezed with Michael's forearm pressing deeper.

Michael knows he can simply just rearrange his arm's position, place his hands against Lucifer's skull and burn Lucifer's Grace out of existence. Could snap his neck and wedge his fingers in, searing every inch of his brother until he's nothing but ash. He knows he can. He knows he's stronger than Lucifer. No matter how many bruises he can leave across Lucifer's flesh, how many bite marks he can cover his chest, it'll never overpower what Michael has left Lucifer eons ago. But he can end it. Can end this punishment…end having to sit in a cell and constantly view his greatest failure to his family. He won't have to face it again and… And it's okay. It's what Fate would want, right? It's his duty as a good son. Lucifer was always meant to die.

The older archangel lets himself rearrange his grip on his brother, blinking through his blurred vision and taking a deep intake of air. Lucifer is groaning out his name with an undercurrent of panic, trying to touch him more. It's only when Michael feels cold fingers grab at his hand against Lucifer's skull does he feel Lucifer clench around him, coming with a heartbreaking sound of rushed air and a watery cry. Michael's orgasm punches him immediately after, dazed and Lucifer very much still alive.

"I finally can hear you…" Lucifer breaks the silence, voice far off as Michael eases away from him. Michael stares unblinkingly at the back of his brother's head, watching him wipe at his face with the back of his hand. Lucifer shifts so he can face Michael, face streaked with tears and twisting with hurt, a choked question wringing itself out of his throat:

"Do you really want to kill me that badly?"

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